Riders on the Storm.

This weather that we have each winter. Blinding rain with little beady balls of ice and gale-force winds that bounce my car about the road like a ping pong ball: It's not conducive to driving like an asshole. So being a responsible person with respect for human life and vehicular integrity, I keep a safe distance between myself and the car and front of me. I am not a slow driver by any means, and I currently have a 500-dollar speeding ticket to attest to that.

Now I know what they say. That how you react to other people's behavior is more of a reflection on you than the person exhibiting the assholery. That it says more about me that I allow myself to get upset by it than it does about them. But when you ride my bumper on a congested offramp for a mile, wildly swerving and flashing your brights in my face in an attempt to intimidate me, it makes me want to drag you from your car, rip your entrails out of your ass, and stuff them in your mouth. You can wash them down with rainwater.

It says nothing good about me, but you sure as hell wouldn't be able to comment.

EDIT: 8:00 PM. I have calmed down some. I am attributing most if not all of the psychotic break I experienced to the repeated exposure of Michael McDonald's rendition of Heard it Through the Grapevine today.